Lucen didn't resist.
Why would he?
He had a smoking-hot noble milf sitting beside him, calling him baby and feeding him soup like he was five years old. Her voice sweet as sugar, her eyes glowing with adoration, and her tits casually bouncing every time she leaned forward just a bit too much.
Honestly, he could get used to this.
Arwen lifted another spoonful, bringing it to his lips.
"There you go, darling—open wide~"
He did, letting her guide the bite into his mouth. She smiled like it made her whole day.
Her thigh was still pressed to his. Warm. Barely shifting. And every time she scooted a little closer to reach something on the tray, her breasts swayed softly under that neckline, so low it barely clung to her. He didn't even try to hide it anymore—his eyes dropped to her chest more than once, following the gentle rise and fall with each breath.
He swallowed hard.
No way this body wasn't breastfeeding on those before, he thought, almost laughing. Lucky bastard.
Arwen scooped another bite, blowing gently on the spoon.
"I kept the estate in shape while you were resting," she said with that soft, proud tone. "Your sisters helped too, of course. Even Iris. Though that girl… mm, she's still as wild as ever."
Lucen raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
She chuckled lightly, feeding him again. "She's received four engagement offers this year alone. Noble sons. Diplomats. Even a general's heir. But do you know what she says every time?"
Lucen gave her a knowing look, playing along. "Let me guess. She challenged them?"
"Exactly!" Arwen laughed, shaking her head. "She demands a duel before even considering. And then she beats them bloody. Honestly, it's a miracle anyone still sends proposals."
Lucen grinned. He already knew that part, of course. Iris Ferndale—combat genius, hand-to-hand monster, famously one of Kaine's future love interests in the story. The girl who could knock a man's teeth out in a silk gown and smirk while doing it.
He didn't have to pretend much. That part really was amusing.
Arwen leaned in to wipe a small spot from the corner of his mouth with her thumb.
"There," she whispered, "look at you… such a handsome boy."
Lucen's breath stalled. Her touch lingered. Her thumb brushed a little lower than it needed to before she pulled it away.
Another spoonful. Another soft smile.
She continued talking, her voice dipping for a moment.
"And… we lost Max."
Lucen blinked.
"...Max?"
She nodded slowly, her smile fading.
"Your dog. Do you remember? Big, shaggy thing. Always stole my slippers."
He didn't remember. Lucen probably did. He didn't. But he nodded anyway.
"He passed last spring," she said, softer now. "Old age. We buried him near the orchard. Evelyn cried for days. Even Iris went quiet for a while."
Lucen didn't say anything. Just reached up and gently touched her hand on his lap. That part wasn't an act. He could see the emotion flicker in her eyes as she smiled through it.
"It's been hard," she admitted. "But now that you're back, it feels like we can all breathe again. Really breathe."
She fed him another bite, fingers brushing his lips again.
"Mommy's not going anywhere," she whispered sweetly. "You just let me take care of everything, baby."
Lucen smiled.
"Alright, Mother."
Lucen could tell.
The way she leaned into him. How she touched his face after every spoonful. Her voice, soft and eager, like she didn't want to stop talking because silence might make it real again.
She missed him. Badly.
♥ Desire +3
[Lady Arwen — Affection: 99/100 | Desire: 50/100]
She wasn't just happy to see him awake. She was relieved to have him back.
And she wouldn't stop feeding him. Bite after bite, story after story.
"Iris still sneaks into your room sometimes," she said with a light laugh. "She always says she's just checking on you, but really—she curls up next to you like a cat. I'd find her there in the morning, passed out against your arm."
Lucen smiled lightly, but inside his head, a little plan was already clicking into place.
She scooped up another spoonful, this time a little bigger.
He opened his mouth—and just as she brought it in, he "accidentally" tilted forward.
The food spilled straight onto his lap.
Hss—fuck!
It was hotter than he expected. Not burn-your-skin hot, but enough to make him twitch.
Arwen gasped.
"Oh—! Oh no, baby, I'm so sorry—!"
Her voice pitched into panic. She quickly set the bowl down on the tray and grabbed the napkin nearby. Without hesitation, she leaned forward and reached for him.
Lucen flinched slightly—just enough to make it look real.
"Ahh…!" he groaned, grabbing the edge of the robe. "It's—it's hot—!"
"Oh sweetheart, sit still—Mommy's got it—!"
She pulled the robe away from his lap without thinking, eyes scanning for where the spill hit. Her hand, still clutching the napkin, immediately began dabbing and wiping at the fabric clinging to his lower abdomen.
Then—lower.
Lucen shifted his hips slightly, hissing again through his teeth.
Her fingers followed the motion—rubbing the cloth just a little too far.
And then she froze.
Her eyes widened.
The napkin paused halfway down his thigh.
She wasn't looking at him.
She was staring at the growing, very noticeable bulge pressing up from under the soft, wet fabric.
Lucen clenched his jaw. Half acting. Half not.
He let out another breath through his teeth.
"...Damn. That stings."
Her lips parted. Just slightly.
She was still holding the napkin against him.
Her fingers hadn't moved.
He turned his head just a bit, catching her expression.
Eyes unfocused. Flushed. Breathing a little different now.
She blinked quickly and snapped out of it.
"I—I'm so sorry, baby—Mommy didn't mean to press too hard—I'll go get another towel—!"
She pulled back fast, cheeks visibly pink, hands trembling slightly.
Lucen leaned back, hiding a grin with the back of his hand.
"…Yeah," he said with a low exhale. "Maybe a towel's good."
♥ Desire +6
[Lady Arwen — Affection: 99/100 | Desire: 56/100]
It didn't take her long to return.
Lady Arwen came back through the door with a soft cloth and a fresh towel draped over her arm. Her expression had mostly composed, but her cheeks were still faintly flushed, eyes just a little too wide for calm.
She approached the bed again, kneeling beside him.
"Alright, baby," she said gently, "let's get you cleaned up."
Lucen shifted slightly, already reaching for the robe.
"I can change it myself, Mother."
But she stopped him with a hand on his chest.
"No, no. Let Mommy do it. You've only just woken up. You shouldn't move around too much."
Her tone was sweet. Firm. Like it wasn't up for debate.
Lucen let his hand fall away, letting her take over.
She reached for the robe's belt, untying it slowly with delicate fingers. The fabric parted, exposing more of his bare chest, then stomach, then lower—until the warm spill of soup soaked into the silk around his groin was fully visible.
Arwen frowned slightly. "Oh dear, it really did get everywhere…"
She dipped the cloth in the bowl of clean water she'd brought, wrung it out, then leaned in and began dabbing the skin near his hip.
Lucen didn't move.
Her touch was soft. Too soft. She wasn't just wiping him off—she was caring for him. Every motion was slow, deliberate, the way a mother might tend to a fevered child. But with the robe open and her hand getting closer to his lower stomach, her knuckles brushing the waistband of his underclothes…
The line was starting to shift.
She reached lower, still not speaking, her breath growing quieter. The cloth moved gently over the edge of his pelvis.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
Lucen kept his eyes on her face the entire time.
She didn't meet his gaze.
She was focused. Red-lipped. Cheeks warm. And every time her fingers brushed too close, she paused—then continued like nothing happened.
"…Almost done," she whispered.
The cloth dipped again. This time it slid lower—pressing softly just above the base of his cock through the damp fabric still clinging to it. The warmth of her palm transferred right through the cloth. And it twitched in response.
She froze.
Lucen let out a faint sound, low in his throat. Not a groan. Not a moan. Just enough.
Her lips parted.
She stayed there, hand still resting just above his shaft, eyes hovering somewhere on his stomach—but not looking anymore.
♥ Desire +7
[Lady Arwen — Affection: 99/100 | Desire: 63/100]
Arwen's hand, still pressing the damp cloth against the soft fabric of his underclothes, tensed slightly.
Her fingers had gone still. Her breath caught.
And then, barely audible, she muttered—
"…goddess above…"
She hadn't even reached under yet. The outline alone was enough. The way the wet cloth clung to him, the way the fabric pushed up from the sheer size of what was underneath…
It was unmistakable.
She blinked hard. Her mouth opened, then shut again.
Lucen caught it. Every reaction. Her eyes dropped once more—this time lower—hovering just above the waistband. Not intentional, but not exactly resisting either.
She cleared her throat softly. "You… you really have grown."
Lucen said nothing.
She reached again, trying to continue wiping—justifying the motion. Her fingers pressed slightly more into the curve at the base, and the thick weight of it twitched again under the fabric.
She flinched.
Her hand drew back just slightly—but her eyes didn't.
Lucen shifted on the bed, parting his thighs a little more as if adjusting himself. Her gaze followed the movement.
"…You didn't change your own clothes when you were little," she murmured, tone low, almost dazed. "I always did. After you got older, the maids started helping instead."
Her hand still held the cloth.
Still paused there, resting near his inner thigh, wet fabric cool now—but her skin warm.
Arwen's hand stayed near his thigh, cloth still between her fingers—but she didn't move it. Not fully.
She stared.
The shape was impossible to ignore now. Thick. Heavy. Obvious. Pressed right up against the damp silk, long enough that it stretched across his lower stomach when it shifted, thick enough that her fingers flinched again without even touching it directly.
Her eyes widened just a little.
She'd raised this body.
Fed it. Bathed it. Dressed it when he was small. But this… this wasn't a boy anymore. This was something else.
Her hand, still gripping the cloth, moved again. Just a little. Just enough to press along the underside of the bulge—slow, tracing the weight of it like she was still "cleaning."
Lucen exhaled through his nose.
It throbbed under her touch.
Her fingers jumped again, instinctively.
But she didn't stop.
Instead, she pressed a little more. Still trying to act like it was normal. Like it was just part of the spill. But she was following the shape now. Palming along it. Letting her knuckles trail up the thick line through the soaked fabric.
And it twitched again.
Bigger this time.
Stronger.
"…ah—"
Lucen groaned—quiet, but deep. A short, raw sound.
Arwen froze.
Her hand still resting along the side of his cock, fingers stiff.
Her eyes slowly lifted to his face.
He met her gaze without flinching.
She didn't say anything.
Didn't move.
The only thing moving was the heavy thing under her hand—growing harder, pulsing slightly, pushing up against the now-useless cloth barrier.
Lucen's voice came out low, steady.
"…Still feels hot, Mother."